


your words like knives

by talktothesky



Series: there is always a first time for everything [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, College Student Stiles, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talktothesky/pseuds/talktothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior year of college is kicking Stiles' butt and although he finds comfort in simply being with Derek he can't ignore all his responsibilities and lose himself in Derek's arms. It's a lot more complicated than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your words like knives

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here, part three of _there is always a first time for everything_! 
> 
> I want to thank you all for the 60+ kudos on _nothing safe is worth the drive_. You're all so lovely and I love you so much, sincerely.
> 
> I'm sorry if I kept you waiting for long but work and college keep me busy. I hope everyone likes this.
> 
> As always, special thanks to Lu and Nat for being the most awesome betas and loving me no matter what. The remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title from "Mean" by Taylor Swift.

Senior year of college is kicking Stiles’ butt.

It’s been weeks since he’s been able to take a shower that’s longer than 5 minutes, his stubble is going crazy -at that point where it’s not stubble anymore but it’s definetely not a beard yet- and he feels like tearing all his freaking hair off each time he hears the word “deadline”.

He feels tired, utterly and helplessly tired. Each day is an exact same copy of the last one and Stiles only has energy enough when he gets to his apartment to kick off his sneakers and throw himself face down on the bed where he starts snoring not one minute later.

But each night, a second or two before he falls asleep, there is always a thought that passes through his mind: he’d do anything to go back to summer.

He dreams of it, too. Dreams of long, lazy days spent memorizing Derek’s body; writing secret messages on each other’s skin, messages that only they would undestand. _"I love you_ "s and _"I need you"_ s and words with no apparent meaning that would actually hold the key to their hearts.

Summer was special and short, so short that it felt like only mere days after that first, runaway kiss that brought Derek to him he was already making his way back to a reality where Derek was not his one and only constant, when in fact they had had five wonderful and full-of-each-other weeks together.

Everyday, laying down, body already beaten and mind drifting away to an exhausted sleep, Stiles aches for those easier times, aches for lips pressed to his neck and hands soothing his worries.

····

Derek suprises Stiles in November by visiting him and staying for longer than he normally does.

Even before they were together, back when they would have only called each other friends or maybe best friends, Derek used to visit Stiles some weekends when he knew Stiles had a mostly empty schedule. They would go to Stiles’ favorite pizza place, walk aimlessly through the streets in comfortable silence or lay down on Stiles’ living room floor watching Game of Thrones together. But on Sundays Derek would always go back and leave Stiles to fall back into the reality that college was.

But it’s now Wednesday and Derek is still here, resting on Stiles’ unmade bed staring intensely at him.

Stiles isn’t even looking his way but he can feel Derek’s gaze just as if it was an actual caress. From his place on his desk with his laptop open writing up reports, Stiles can’t help but let a little smile escape from his mouth. Having Derek’s attention gives him a thrill, knowing that for some reason Derek finds him interesting enough to look at him for minutes not doing anything else. He can’t tell Derek this, though, so normally he’ll tease him and jokingly ask him to stop with the creeper tendencies.

Stiles’ attention is rapidly decreasing and as much as he knows he has to finish up all the work before the next day, he can feel himself grow more and more tired of staring at the computer screen and the lines of text. He’s worked hard today, he thinks, and he deserves a break. He’s had a shirtless Derek in his bed all evening and he still resisted the temptation to just leave it all and go lay with him. That is reason enough to give himself a pat in the back and some time to enjoy with his boyfriend.

Sitting in a chair for 3 hours straight has left Stiles with very numb legs. He stands up, stretching as he goes, moving his ankles in circles so the blood flows correctly. He is aware of Derek’s eyes still on him, never having left him, so he makes sure to give the werewolf a bit of a show.

He raises his arms above his head and hears the cracks of his back. The movement has made Stiles’ t-shirt ride up, exposing the patch of hair that leads to his groin, a part of Stiles that Derek is very obsessed with. The older man denies it, but the way he blushes every time Stiles mentions it and the way he sniffes constantly at it when they both lay down together sell him out. Stiles knows it has to do with the way his scent concentrates in there, just as the way it must be in his neck, because Derek has confessed to Stiles before that the first thing he starts missing when Stiles goes away is how his scent lingers on every part of the apartment, Derek’s car and even around town.

_(During one long phone conversation, late at night, Derek told him that sometimes it feels like the longer he goes without Stiles’ scent, the more lost he feels.)_

Not ready yet to give up and approach Derek, Stiles bends in half, reaching forward with his long arms to touch his clothed toes. He makes sure to face away from Derek, ass on full display when he reaches for the floor. He wants Derek to ask him, beg him practically, to get into bed with him, even if it’s for something as innocent as a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Stiles” Derek whines.

This is it, Stiles thinks. It took even less time than he imagined. He turns his head, looking at Derek over his shoulder, face set into a false image of innocence. He knows Derek won’t buy it, but he is also sure that it will frustrate him that Stiles won’t give him what he wants as soon as possible.

“What?” Stiles asks, still trying to drive Derek crazy. “What’s wrong?”

Derek huffs, “You’re a menace.” His pout is adorable and the petulance on his voice makes him sound like a 5-year-old. “I hate you.”

Stiles drops the act completely and involuntarily by laughing, too enamored by Derek’s behavior to pretend anymore. He turns to face Derek and gives him a little smirk.

“Yep, sure you do.” He assumes a new position, hands resting on his hips. “What would make you hate me less? Maybe joining you in bed?”

Derek sits up from the position he had been in previously, and he gets closer to the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

“And what have you done to deserve it?” Stiles fakes thinking about it with his right hand rubbing at his chin.

“I put up with you.”

Stiles lets out an indignant cry at Derek’s comment and the werewolf laughs loudly. Stiles loves thinking about how the sound is becoming more and more usual for Derek. There was a time when seeing Derek so much as smile lightly at him was a miracle, something Stiles treasured immensely. Now though, the occurrence of it is not as unheard of, but no matter what Stiles still treasures it. He treasures it because of the way Derek eyes squint, because Derek looks at least 5 years younger each time a chuckle escapes his lips, and he also treasures it because no other sound in the world makes his heart beat as fast as Derek’s laugh.

“See, “ continues Stiles, enjoying their bantering. “that was not very nice, Derek. I don’t think you deserve me in bed with you now.”

Derek watches him, unblinking, concentrated. A minute must pass before Derek says, “Okay.”

Stiles stutters and stumbles over his words. “What?” This is not how this was supposed to go! Derek has to beg him, he’s meant to ask Stiles desperately to join him! Hasn’t he missed him? ( _In like the 3 hours Stiles has been out of bed, yes , shut up._ ) Stiles will not let this go, so he exclaims, “This is not how it’s supposed to go!”

Derek laughs, again (Stiles is good, _so good_ as a boyfriend, he thinks proudly) and pushes himself up on his elbows, still staring directly at Stiles, who has moved closer to the bed, now standing with a knee bent and resting on the mattress.

“Am I supposed to beg?” The question isn’t really one, because Derek knows perfectly well what Stiles desires. He knows this game they’re playing and today he’s breaking all the rules. It’s an intentional step out of their teasing routines, but Derek still knows Stiles well enough to play it safe, he knows what rules he can bend and which ones are solid enough to make things work.

“Yes!” Stiles’ answer comes with no hesitation, a second later after Derek’s question. “You want me to join you, you ask for it!”

Derek sits up entirely, expression suddenly serious and determinant. In one quick move he’s sitting in front of Stiles, his feet now resting on the floor. Stiles lets his leg, previously propped on the bed, fall to the ground, situating him with Derek’s legs between his own. He places his hands gently on Derek’s shoulders.

“Stiles,” The aforementioned encourages him running one of his hands through his hair. Derek’s eyes fall shut and his voice sounds pliant when he goes on, “will you please get into bed with me?”

The younger of the two bends at the waist, getting so close to Derek that his lips graze Derek’s earlobe as he whispers, “When you ask like that.”

Stiles pushes Derek gently onto the bed and the werewolf slides up the bed, situating himself with his back resting on the wall with no headboard and opening his legs, giving Stiles enough space to follow him up and position himself on his knees between Derek’s legs.

They are in no rush because even though they don’t have all the time in the world, they have enough to go slow with each other. They don’t want desperation, they’ve had enough of that already in their lives, both of them prefer patiently discovering each other with their hands through teasing fingertips, with their mouths thanks to quick kisses.

Derek’s hands on Stiles’ waist feel like a symbolic anchor, Stiles’ hands on Derek’s waist are his literal anchor, his tie to humanity and his most real connection to himself. It’s like Stiles helps him get his human side in touch with his wolf, both in one, never ashamed of letting himself go, of showing his true nature. Stiles accepts him for who he is and who he has been, never perfect but always trying.

Their kisses start becoming deeper, tongues clashing, teeth pulling at each other’s lips. Derek sneaks his hands under Stiles’ t-shirt (which is actually Derek’s) and grazes Stiles’ nipples with his index fingers, not a full-on touch, only a hint of it, but Stiles hisses, so turned on he isn’t even ashamed of the wanton moan that he lets out.

“One day,” Derek groans, separating only a millimeter from Stiles’ lips “I’m going to make you come by only touching your nipples.” He demonstrates by pinching Stiles’ overly sensitive nipples, and Stiles wriggles on Derek’s lap, making their clothed dicks rub. Derek stops a moan by biting on Stiles’ neck, most likely making a mark of teeth. His wolf hums inside his skin, pleased with leaving something of his on Stiles. The human also seems to enjoy it, whimpering a “Derek” that make all the hairs on Derek’s body stand up.

The werewolf places one of his hands a little under Stiles’ butt and the other one he leaves on his boyfriend’s hip, using his strength to flip them over, now looking at Stiles from above. He makes such an irresistible image against the white of the sheets. His hair is sticking in every direction and he has dark circles under his eyes, but his smile is blinding, the sweetest poison Derek could ever taste.

Both of them start a synchronized dancing of bodies as if they have been practicing for all of their lives. A delicious beat, a perfect rhythm they cannot escape from.

Derek finds Stiles’ hands gripping the sheets tightly and he uncurls Stiles’ fingers only to wrap his own through them, positioning Stiles’ hands above his head.

Stiles throws his head back when Derek starts nosing at his jaw, and with his tongue he leaves little trails of saliva in the column of Stiles’ neck, fascinated by the red spots that his stubble rubs in Stiles’ skin.

They both start feeling it at the same time, an electrical bolt that goes through them, not one inch of their bodies uncovered. Stiles curves his back, trying to bring himself closer to Derek while unable to move his hands, as if needing to tangle each part of his soul with Derek’s, forever interlocking them.

Stiles comes first, Derek’s name on his lips, half whispered half breathed out, followed by the older man that tightens his grip on Stiles’ hands during his release. He all but falls in top of the slimmer man, that breathes out an “oof” when Derek presses all his weight into him.

“Sorry” Derek moves his body to relocate next to Stiles giving him a light kiss on the cheek and running his fingers through the long strands of his hair.

“We are ridiculous, you know?” Stiles’s question (more like remark, actually) makes Derek raise a single eyebrow in wonder. “We just came in our pants like teenagers, Derek. We’re so ridiculous.”

Derek breathes out a short laugh but doesn’t respond, preferring to continue his stroking of Stiles’ hair.

Long minutes pass and Stiles finds his body getting boneless. He feels like he’s melting into the mattress but when he tries to move Derek’s arm prevents him to do so.

“Derek, I have to finish work.”

All Derek does is bring Stiles’ body closer to his and very gently closes his eyes with his fingertips. “You can do that later. Now relax.”

Stiles wants to protest, to tell him the assignment is important and that he’s still only halfway through with it, but all fight leaves him without his permission, Derek’s warmth a glue that keeps him in his place.

Between one breath and the next he’s asleep, Derek’s humming of some old Spanish song his only lullaby, one of his hands still holding onto Derek’s, the other pressed to Derek’s chest feeling the slow beat of his heart.

····

Stiles slams the door loudly behind him, trying to let some of his anger go through this unharmful violence but to no avail. The rage is still inside him, eating him alive and he wants to kick things, break and destroy (preferably things that belong to his professor, or maybe just hit his professor himself.).

The echo of the door carries through all the house, reaching the kitchen where Derek started heating up the dinner as soon as he heard Stiles coming up the stairs but Stiles doesn’t come directly to the kitchen to greet him. He goes to the bedroom and throws his backpack forcefully to the floor muttering all the while things that Derek can’t quite decipher.

Derek decides to give him time and space, some breathing room, to let Stiles be the one to reach out for him when he feels that he needs it. It’s proven successful before, in times when Stiles has had a bad day or the overwhelming pressure of memories of people gone have crashed him.

They’re both similar in that aspect, Derek and Stiles: sometimes they need to let everything they’re feeling surround them and then slowly fill them up, until it practically drowns them. It’s then, when they are nearly at their breaking point, that they let others take some of that pain away. They share it, not as a burden, not as a punishment to others, but as a way of showing the people they choose to live that through with the level of trust they have in them. A small miracle in their moments of suffering, really.

But time passes as Derek sets the table and Stiles has locked himself on his room longer than Derek would have expected. By now Stiles should have had come out and wrapped himself around Derek, arms firmly on his waist, sweet kisses on Derek’s shoulders and whispered words to break the silence trying to give meaning to the tangled mess of thoughts and emotions that normally consume Stiles inside.

It’s not something Derek does normally, push Stiles, but the longer everything stays in his head the more Stiles suffers all of it on his own and Derek wants to at least give him the opportunity to confide in him before the taste of his rage turns too bitter to stand.

He leaves the kitchen (table already set up, food ready to be served) and approaches Stiles’ bedroom. He knocks softly on the door, just two touches of his knuckles against the wood.

Stiles’ voice has a cutting edge when it is heard through the door, “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s hearing picks up the sounds of sheets rustling and Stiles getting off the bed. However, he wouldn’t need special hearing to be able to listen to Stiles’ steps as he starts pacing around the room. His feet collide heavily against the floor, no doubt that Stiles is doing it on purpose, pent up nerves filling him up.  
  
“Am I okay, he asks. Am I okay.”  
  
Derek frowns, confused by Stiles’ mutters. He was sure Stiles’ anger was not directed at him but he spent enough years as Stiles’ sort-of-but-not-real enemy to distinguish between his tones. More than once learning about the human’s moods and different reactions saved them both from miscommunication and eased things between them making everyone around them sigh in relief. Other times Derek’s fascination with grasping every little detail and quirk of Stiles is not a practical matter but a heart issue. He craves everything about Stiles, be it his touch or his mind.

Because of this, because of his constant desire to do right by Stiles by learning about him, he knows now that he’s somehow involved in whatever it is that has Stiles in fumes. He wants Stiles to tell him about it and not let it build until it explodes in their faces so he clears his throat and asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s difficult for him, who has always kept matters close to his chest, preferring not to open up in case it would be used against him once again. But this is Stiles and he always has something to comment on, some words he needs to spit before he breathes properly again. It’s not surprising then that Stiles opens the door abruptly ready to face the conversation that’s coming but Derek still startles taking a step back from the now open door.

It’s not surprising then that Stiles opens the door abruptly ready to face the conversation that’s coming but Derek still startles taking a step back from the now open door.

Stiles’ cheeks are red and he’s breathing heavily and it’s amazing how many various miens he has, how expressive he is and how he always seems to wear each emotion on his face and his heart on his sleeve.

“Do _you_ want to talk?” Stiles gets like this when he’s feeling too many things at once, incising and biting, throwing Derek’s words back at him.

“I want to if you want to.”

Exasperated, Stiles throws his arms up, “Oh c’mon Derek, don’t waste my time. You’ve been doing that already enough this week.”  
  
All air leaves Derek’s lungs and his vision gets blurry. His tone is flat, the inflection of the sentence not proper for a question. “Excuse me?”

“How much longer do you plan to stay, huh? Could you maybe make this conversation neverending too?”

“Wow, it seems like you’re not only an asshole now but also unable to communicate.” This is the problem with their fights, Derek tries to rationalize, Stiles knows perfectly which buttons to push to get Derek ready for a strike. “If you wanted me gone you could have just said so.”

“Well Derek, dear,” Stiles’ voice drips with sarcasm, filling in every pore in Derek’s body, attaching to his skin and alarming his senses. “I think it’s time you go.”

Derek laughs and starts to move again towards the kitchen. Stiles follows him, confounded by his reaction.

“Okay.” Derek starts serving dinner for both of them, moving expertly around the little kitchen that hosts a minuscule table and two mismatched chairs where Stiles and Derek have always eaten together, knees knocking and hands clashing when reaching for the same thing. “And why do you want me gone?”

Stiles gapes at him and raises his voice to exclaim, “Because! Just because! I have a life that does not include you. A life where I study and I have responsibilities and I can’t be keeping an eye of you 24/7.”

“Oh,” Derek finally comes to the realization and he stills, turns to face Stiles and crosses his arms. “so it’s about that.”

“What?” Stiles frowns, still angered by Derek’s mostly passive approach to the situation. “What is it about?”

“Did something happen in one of your classes?”

In just a second everything seems to change and something invisibly clicks in place. Stiles’ words get sharper and make more sense now that it the real problem has been recognized by Derek.

“You happened, you asshole. I did not submit my assignment on time because you decided that I needed sleep and you didn’t wake me up. And now my professor says it’s too late to turn it in.”

Stiles is growing more and more agitated so Derek approaches him and tries to soothe him running his hands up and down his arms but the younger man bats his hands away and moves to the other side of the kitchen.

“No, Derek, I am really angry. This is important.”

“Stiles, you’ve got amazing marks, this is not the end of the world.”

“It’s still important! I should have finished the assignment last night but I didn’t because you distracted me!”

Derek rolls his eyes and responds, “You needed sleep, Stiles. You can’t turn in an essay or even graduate college if you die of exhaustion or starvation.”

“I’ve survived three years of college without you looking out for me so I think I must have done something right.”

Derek pins Stiles with an incredulous look and clears his throat before he starts enunciating, “Freshmen year you didn’t leave bed in your dad’s house for three days straight in Christmas break because of how tired exams had made you.” He points out each fact with a finger of his right hand. “You called Scott freaking out at least once a week sophomore year complaining about something or other and nearly dropped 6 pounds in just the first semester.” Stiles is avoiding looking at Derek straight in the eye and that’s how the werewolf knows he’s making a point. “Do you want me to start with last year? Want me to tell you how I felt when you called me in the midst of a panic attack?”

Stiles is still avoiding making eye contact and he’s trying to come up with an answer, anything that lets him continue a fight that he has already lost, a fight that he knew from the very beginning, right when he walked through the door and slammed it, was unfair on Derek.

Before Stiles can say anything though Derek moves quickly to stand in front of him and pacifies, “I’m not going to apologize for looking out for you even if I’m sorry that you couldn’t finish work. We look out for each other, we’ve always done that even before we were in a relationship.”

He knows he’s crossing a line before he blurts it out, knows it like he knows the Earth revolves around the sun, knows it like he knows Derek doesn’t deserve it, that he would never deserve it, but it still escapes his lips, “Like you know much about relationships.”

The sentence is out in the open but Stiles would sell his soul to erase it all, to go back in time just 20 seconds and kiss Derek firmly on the lips, making them both forget about any fight, give him pleasure instead of inflict him pain. But he can’t, he’s said it and Derek’s face is the worst kind of reminder of that mistake.

He tries, voice breaking, to change Derek’s faraway look, to focus his eyes back on him.”Derek, I didn’t mean...”

Derek does snap out of it, but his body is tense and he takes a step away from his boyfriend as he does. He looks at Stiles, eyes hard and cold and shakes his head causing Stiles’ heart to shrink a little smaller.

“You’re right, I don’t.”

Stiles’ lips tremble and he breathes in and out slowly, feeling the anxiety take root in him.

“I’m gonna go now, because you asked. Enjoy your dinner.”

It takes less than ten seconds for Derek to grab his jacket from the back of Stiles’ couch, put on his shoes and close the apartment door firmly behind him, paralleling Stiles’ entrance to the house not that long ago.

Now it’s Stiles the one standing in the middle of the kitchen, homemade food served on the table still warm but left untouched, trying to blink back the tears, Derek’s name quietly whispered to the empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for leaving you like this, I know I'm cruel :(
> 
> Come yell at me over at my [Tumblr](your-ownanchor.tumblr.com) or my [Twitter](twitter.com/talktothesky).
> 
> (We can also cry over how perfect Taylor's 1989 CD is <3)


End file.
